


First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 19: An Escape

by SkiesOverTokyo



Series: FirstFan NaNoWriMo Drabbles [19]
Category: First Fantasy
Genre: Character Development, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 05:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16675654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkiesOverTokyo/pseuds/SkiesOverTokyo
Summary: Or How Petyr got out from under Varya's nose in Chapter 4.





	First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 19: An Escape

A tap on the glass woke me, the cool click of nails on thin stained glass.  
Another tap. A third.  
I sat bolt upright, irritatedly pushing away the awnings of my bed, stepped into veltetine slippers, and, dressed only in a nightshirt, stepped to the window.  
Allia, perhaps my best friend within the huge castle at the centre of the capital, stood there, on the balcony, a grin on her face, all in black as usual, but for the crimson cloak whipping around her in the wind-her voice came distinct through the thin, but beautiful glass-a woman almost as beautiful as her, dressed in armour. Some nameless figure of my country’s history, but a beautiful sight to awaken to.   
  
  
Another gentle tap-Allia was getting impatient out in the grey morn.  
“Good morning, your highness. May I come in, please? It’s rather cold out here, and climbing without Varya’s little crows noticing me is harder than you think. I had to use a little magic and a grappling hook in the end.”  
I instantly opened the window, and, in her typical way, she slipped, graceful and silent into the room. My nursemaid had once called her the true cat of the palace, such was her skill in moving from place to place like a shadow, and I was glad to have the court jester’s daughter as a friend.  
  
She instantly crossed to the fire, and, peeling off the special gloves she used to climb, began warming her hands by its newly growing flame. I closed the window and crossed over to the spare chair next to hers, noting that someone had already brought me breakfast, leaving it at the foot of my bed.   
“Can I get you a cup of tea, Allia?”  
She eyed the tray with a suspicion that surprised me, and got up to walk over to the small table, eyes narrowed, a vixen seeking out her prey  
.  
“Was that there when you woke up?”  
 I shook my head, and her suspicion, if anything, grew. Hand went into her cloak, and a small knife, and a set of papers inside an envelope returned with it. Without another word, she scraped off a little of the burn from each piece of toast, wiping each upon a sheet of paper. As I protested, she moved onto the sausages, eggs, bacon, and finally, dipping the knife into the pot, the tea.   
A sigh of satisfaction.  
“Well, at least he’s not choosing poison to kill you”  
  
I blinked in confusion.  
“Who’s trying to kill m-”  
“Varya. Varya is already moving to strip you of your freedom, restrict your movements, declare your birthright to the throne null and void.”  
“Allia, that’s insane…”  
Even as I said it, I wondered if I was right. Allia was never one to sugarcoat the truth, and she would not have gone to the inconvenience of testing my food for poison if she wasn’t afraid of it…  
  
She didn’t respond, but walked to the door of my room, and tried to open it. Nothing.   
I wondered if my chamberlain, Smith, had accidently locked the door to allow me privacy, and crossed to join her, pulling my key from around my neck and trying the lock. It clicked a few times, as I turned it in the familiar pattern, but did not shift whatsoever. Allia pulled the knife out again, and dropping silently to all fours, stuck the first couple of inches under the door, waggling the handle to and fro.   
A sharp intake of breath.  
She pulled the knife back, resheathed it, and turned to me  
“The corridor is crawling with guards. One either side of your door, one at the end of the corridor, both ends, patrol of two just turning the corner, expect two heading towards your door. Someone doesn’t want you to leave your room.”  
  
She turned, and walked to the armchair, flopping down.  
“Well, might as well get comfortable. Although…”  
She got back up, poured herself a cup of tea, added a lump of sugar deftly, and crossed to the window, unlocking them and pushing them open, peering out into the gloom she’d come from. Over to the edge, still drinking her tea. I followed her to the edge of my room, shivering a little.  
“Well, you’re in luck. Someone overlooked the fact you have a window. And a balcony. There’s no-one guarding outside. Which means…”  
Hand into her pocket again, withdrawing a small metal whistle. She raised it to her lips, and blew it.  
What came out was not what I’d expected-more of a birdcall than the metallic shriek of a normal whistle. She paused, ear cocked.   
  
From somewhere out in the grounds, a response, lower, deeper.  
“Aha. Seems that Ulfric’s on his way”  
For the first time that day, I allowed myself to smile. All the warriors in the castle were no match for the hammer of Ulfric the Strong, and to know that this warrior was not only on my side, but about to rescue me in the next few minutes. Allia had to have had some thought about this.  
“You mean that you…had this planned?”  
“Not…exactly _my_ plan. Call us a…public minded group of friends. Your supporters in the court can’t move till you move. If they’re seen to help you, then Varya will move against them like a hammer to the anvil. You must, my prince, escape before they do.”  
  
Ah.  
This was not a plan, this was suicide  
“How many are with us?”  
“Enough…seven, including us two.”  
“ _Seven?!”_  
This _was_ suicide.  
“Allia, we won’t even make it out of the city. Varya, or the town guard, or the Butcher of Hnifur will chase us down within hours”  
“No. He won’t. If you move first, Varya cannot be seen to move against us, or send forces against us. We trap his hands until we’re dozens of leagues out of his reach, and even then he can only send a token force, less than twenty to find us, or risk triggering the war before his side is ready.”  
  
I began to recognise the carefully plotted hand of an old friend behind this.  
“Skoldhaimer worked this all out, didn’t he?”  
And from a vacant armchair that was suddenly not vacant came the mage’s familiar voice  
“That I did, your highness. But I felt it prudent to have the machinery of it begin moving before I sent Allia to your side, and to send Allia first. Not that you wouldn’t trust my words, but from a younger, closer friend than your old tutor may sweeten the salt of the medicine of the truth you had to swallow.”  
His lined face crinkled into a smile, and he got to his feet, dusting himself down.   
“Now, how about some tea, Allia?”  
  
The girl smiled, poured him a cup, and wandered over to the window, sticking her head out. Another blast of that bird-whistle, and an owl call replied, from much closer than I’d expected. Suddenly, and without warning, the sound of battle exploded, metal on metal, screaming, yelling, and, to my surprise, the twang of a bow.  
Skoldhaimer smiled to himself.  
“And that makes five. Just the other two, and we should be able to depart quickly and quietly, in whatever direction we choose. I would suggest, your highness, you get ready. Pack a few changes of clothing, nothing showy, a blade, and take as much money as you can carry. I’ve managed to get Lord Ivan of Illyich to make a little…withdrawal from the royal mint. He will be our sixth member, and we’ll be rendezvousing with him at the main gate.”  
  
I nodded, and briskly stepped into my private rooms, quickly changing into clothing that I tended to wear during sword practice-a simple linen shirt, a heavy leather jerkin, a thick, but plain looking woollen cloak, heavy, sturdy boots. My hands shook a little, as I did my boots up, either from nerves, or excitement, I couldn’t tell. I pinned the cloak, nearly stabbing the pin into my finger, with a simple broach with the family crest-I could now easily enough pass as one of my father’s lesser retainers. I haphazardly tied up my hair, in a different style from usual, and in a moment of inspiration, reached for the coal basket that was usually kept out of sight.  
  
Smearing my hands with a little of it, and rubbing the grime into my fingers, and then into my skin, I carefuly created a look of a grubby pot boy, or a kitchen-hand, holding the logs that sat alongside the coal against me, allowing a little of the bark to scatter over my clothes to suggest a morning’s work stocking the fireplaces of the castle. Perfect. I pulled the hood on my cloak up and took a look in the mirror.  
  
A boy, with only the vaguest resemblance to the Prince Petyr, heir to the Dragon Throne of the Great Empire, stared back. His appearance took me a little by surprise, and for a moment, the whole enormity of what was about to happen, that I would never see this room again, unless I was to fight a war, destroy my brother, and become king, overwhelmed me.  
I would not let my followers see me cry. I _could_ not.   
I fought the feeling down, vanquished it, just as a knock on the door echoed through the small room. I pulled the door open, and stepped out into the room.  
  
The other door was gone. In its place stood the hulking form of Ulfric the Strong, and in front of him, bow drawn, Laria Greentree, the castle’s archery teacher.  He nodded to me, as Ulfric caught me in a one-armed bear hug.  
“Nice disguise, my young lord” he growled, in his usual way, before turning to Skolhaimer  
“Corridors are clear. Guard isn’t due to change for an hour or so.”  
  
We made our way past what had to be a good two dozen bodies, some riddled with arrows, others cut, slashed, or crushed in two. Whilst I wished these men no ill personally, and winced at the destruction that the elf and the warrior had caused in their rescue, I was glad that I was not fighting them myself. There was, as we reached the bottom of the Great Staircase, an eerie calm.  
Laria turned  
“They’ve cleared the building, your highness. Better not to have witnesses. Of course, that means that there’s no-one to witness your escape, not that you’d be recognised at current. By the by, excellent disguise.”  
Ulfric nodded, each of his huge strides catching up to my quick paces  
“There’s no-one else within the walls of this part of the castle, and Uppi and Ivan are waiting for us by the jetty.”  
  
  
The castle was silent as we made our way across the empty gravel, ducked around the side, through the water gate and onto a narrow wooden jetty, where the diminutive Court Mage, Uppi, a strange figure who kept himself in a baggy cloak, a strange hat and whose eyes gleamed beneath the brim of it, was already in the boat, adjusting rigging with surprising nimbleness, whilst Ivan, half in disguise, not that, for a noble, he left much impression on the eye. He grinned, held out his hand, and helped me into the boat.  
  
Surprisingly, it managed to fit all of us, just about, and Ulfric’s massive foot shoved us off from the jetty, before he and Laria took up oars, so that the castle began to shrink behind us, so that, within a couple of minutes, the great walls only stretched from one side of my vision to the other, rather than seemingly forever. A couple more minutes, and, just before we slipped under the first of the bridges of the capital, and out of sight, to my surprise, I felt tears come to my eyes  
I stepped to the prow of the boat, and looked back  
“I swear I will come back as king. I will win this war”  
“That’s the spirit, your Highness”, Ulfric muttered between strokes, as we slipped under the bridge, and lost sight of the castle.


End file.
